


Regret (or Living with Your Bad Decision)

by Vrunka



Series: Mistakes [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Intercrural Sex, Little bit of slut shaming, M/M, Monster Reaper, Rough Sex, Tentacle Jobs, dubcon, i guess that's the word for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Too many years have passed and there's no way to make it right and sometimes you just have to deal any way you can.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So we got some MonsterGabe happening here like for real so yeah. We have gone There and This is happening. There are tentacles/tendrils and they do sex things and it happens. Not your jam, I will not be offended.
> 
> This is for y'all that asked: dovalante and Fallen_Seraphina and CoHost 3000 and dolche latte I hope you all see this and suffer with me. (I dunno why I can't like tag like this is tumblr but whatever, you're all to blame for this)

Sometimes he still remembers the moment he let everything go to shit.

It isn't sepia tinted, or washed out. Not faded or aged with years like so many other memories are.

He remembers it--everything--like it was yesterday.

Like it was happening now.

"Jaaaaaaaack." Reaper's drawl coils cold and solid in his gut. His voice is whispered and dry, even filtered as it is through the mask. He sounds spectral. Something ripped from the grave.

A dead man calling for a dead man.

"Jack, I'm beginning to think you aren't taking this seriously," Reaper says. His voice seems to come from a million places, under the mask, from the tendrils of darkness that weave around him. From Soldier's very soul. Whispered echoes, like yelling down a well.

One of the tendrils slithers against Soldier's face. His mask was lost in the initial blows; it lies somewhere in the darkness of the warehouse, discarded.

He tries to control his breathing as the darkness strokes down his cheek. Reaper's bulk is a solid, immovable weight across his knees.

He tries not to remember the hundred other times he'd been in such a similar position.

Gabriel Reyes, naked and sweating, skin slicking against Jack's and he's panting and he's groaning and writhing and it's so good, he's so good and he's Jack's he's all Jack's and they're together and they're perfect and they're 

Stronger.

The tendril pulses against his lips, cool and moist. Like wax paper, slightly rubbery. Fish flesh, dead flesh. Soldier wants to buck and kick and fight, but it's like the cool weight has sapped him of everything. Numbness in his limbs, tracking across his face where that inky wet darkness trails.

"How many times has it been now?" Reaper asks.

How many? The tendrils repeat. Phantoms. How many? How many?

Too many.

"Giving up already?"

Soldier grits his teeth. "I'm not--"

Reaper's claws caress his throat, icy metal against his pulse. "Jack," Reaper says, over a shudder. The tendrils copy the motion, twisting, pushing. Soldier gasps as they constrict around him, involuntary. Torn from him.

Jack, they repeat. Sensual. Jack.

"You shouldn't lie to me."

He shouldn't.

There have been too many lies between them, over the years. Too many inconsistent cruelties.

Soldier remembers it all in terrible clarity.

The fingers tighten against his throat. Digging furrows into the skin. Trickling lines of blood, wet on Soldier's neck.

He arches against the touch, spine bending in an inhuman arc. Weight on his shoulders, on his heels. His muscles protest, creaking. His mouth opens, gasping for air.

The tendril, soft and cautious as a new lover, slips into his mouth. There is blessedly little taste to it, though the texture is still enough to make Soldier gag. His eyes flutter as the appendage presses his tongue down, smoothes against it.

Like a cock.

How many times, Jack.

Jack.

Jack.

Jack.

How many times?

How many?

Soldier groans around it. The cool, slimy non-flesh in his mouth. Stretching his jaw like a cock would. He misses it. Misses this.

Jack, the part he had thought buried and away and dead, roils. He remembers Gabe's face, the lazy half-lidded expression he always got.

Reaper's hands release his throat. The tendril seems to lose consistency. Spills from between Soldier's lips like smoke.

"Enjoying it, Jack," Reaper taunts, low. Goading. His fingers raise to his own mask. Silver against silver. Metal against metal. "You always were such a cock slut."

The mask slips down.

Past Reaper's eyes, past his nose and his lips and his chin. The horror show of his face. Too many eyes, or none. His features are shifting and formless, changing every time Soldier blinks. Smokey. Unreal. Too-sharp teeth, unhinging jaw. Rolling mass of blood red worms.

Soldier coughs, turns his head, gagging. The oily smoke drips from him like sickness.

Above him, Reaper laughs.

This is what they have become now. Monstrous. But this is not always how they were.

Reaper leans down and kisses him. If something so brutal can be even called a kiss. Reaper's tongue invades his mouth, too long, prehensile and slippery like the darkness. Now it is short and warm and exactly how Soldier remembers it.

Now it is gone and there is nothing.

Just Gabriel purring above him. Technicolor as a memory.

Soldier closes his eyes.

This is the fifth outright time he and Reaper have met in battle. Far too many to be coincidental. Reaper is hunting him.

Haunting him.

It makes no real difference.

It will be the fourth time he has left the battle debased and ashamed and sticky in all the wrong places. Reaper--Gabriel--remembers his weaknesses, plays on them.

His fingers, which throughout these encounters are the one part of him that seem to remain solid, drag down Soldier's chest.

"Open up for me," Reaper says against Soldier's cheek. His teeth are sharp like knives, poking between his ruined lips like shark teeth.

Soldier turns his head, his pulse beats frantic in his temple, his throat. Under the reinforced material of his gloves. His hands are being held down by Reaper's tentacles.

He mashes his lips to Reaper's.

He opens up.

He hates that he wants to. That he allows himself this

Weakness.

He shudders into Reaper's mouth. Rolls his hips the way his body so longs to. He isn't hard yet, but it won't take much. Reaper, in these clashes, always seems highly attuned to Soldier's desires. What he gets from it, other than 76's absolute humiliation, Soldier isn't sure.

Maybe it's some sort of repentance on both of their parts.

Reaper chuckles, his warm breath puffs against Soldier's scarred lips. His weight is lifting. Soldier's eyes blink open.

He doesn't look at Reaper's shifting face, even as Reaper steps off of him. He looks at Reaper's hands instead. The lines of darkness, impenetrable and semi-solid, loosen their coil around Soldier's arms. The chitter and hiss as they withdraw from his body.

Jack, they say, Jack, let me have you.

"Jack," Reaper says. He sounds almost tender, almost fond. Soldier will not look at his face to see the mockery there. "Strip. I want to do it right this time."

Do it right.

Not rushed and desperate with Reaper's weight pinning him and his pants pushed hurried around his knees.

There is no right, not between them. Not anymore.

Soldier looks up.

Reaper is sporting four eyes, red rubies in the darkness of his face. His lips are thin and jagged, curled into a grin.

He's doing it in cruelty. He's doing it so Soldier will have to think about every second of it. Have to face it.

Soldier clenches his hand against his chest. Right hand. Over his heart. The blood from the superficial scratches on his neck has already tacked up, it stretches and cracks as he moves his head.

"Gabriel," he breathes. "Don't make me do it like this."

A parody of something they once had. Soldier--Jack--has no right to ask for such indulgences. It's all his fault things have fallen the way they have.

Sacrifices were made.

Jack is the one who gave the orders to make them.

Gabriel's face looks down on him. Soldier blinks and it's different. Blinks again and it's back.

"Are you trying to appeal to my mercy, calling me that?" Reaper asks.

"No." Soldier isn't foolish enough to believe there is anything like mercy left in Reaper's shell. "It just felt..."

"I should kill you," Reaper says, just a little off-handedly. "You're getting too bold. Cocky again. You know how I hate that."

More tendrils seem to appear as he says it, snaking out from around him. Edging toward Soldier. They stop just short of touching him, hovering. Soldier supposes they are to add weight to the threat. Reaper could kill him easily.

But they're so far past that point by now.

"Gabe," he says. It's quiet. It's been a long time since he used that name.

The tendrils curl in on themselves. Reflexive little twitch. Gabe, they whisper, Gabe, God I didn't know you could take me this deep.

It's not Jack's voice, nor is it Gabriel's. Higher pitched, child whispers. Soldier recognizes the words though. Like it was yesterday.

Reaper is staring down at him. The tendrils whisper hushed and coil. Independent of him. It's the first time Soldier realizes Reaper doesn't have complete control over it.

"Gabe," he says again, louder now.

On his finger, in his glove, the ring is a comforting familiar weight against his skin. The second presses against his sternum. Those two rings and Jack's dog tags were the only thing to survive the explosion.

Jack had enjoyed watching the latter sink steadily into the muck and shit of an open sewer in Mexico. He hadn't been able to make himself throw out the rings.

For years and years he has carried them on himself.

Damning evidence.

The moment Jack sacrificed everything. The moment everything became something else.

The tendrils move and Reaper's expression settles, hardened. Too many teeth, chunks of his cheeks dissolving, shredding.

"Turn over then," he says, "I don't want to see your fucking face."

Soldier does as he is told. His hands don't shake as he unclips his belt. The tendrils caress his hips, twist around his fingers.

Reaper is a looming presence behind his shoulder. Soldier closes his eyes and pushes his trousers down to his knees. Tentacles of darkness follow the progress. Leave wet trails of colorless liquid on his thighs.

They wrap around his cock.

Familiar.

Gabe, they hiss, Gabe, I love you oh God I love you, Jack oh God, oh God.

"Don't listen to them," Reaper says. His hands wrap around Soldier's chest, claws against the smooth material of his undershirt.

"I wasn't."

He was. He can't help it. It's perverse hearing his own words twisted and echoed so.

I love you, Jesus Christ I love you, they say. Take me, please I need you, take me, make me feel it let me feel you please, Gabe, Jack, Jack, Jack.

Reaper's teeth against the back of Soldier's neck, nipping the skin harder than strictly necessary. The leather of their jacket's slide together, creaking. Reaper's cock presses against Soldier's balls, blunt pressure. Blurring into pain when Reaper thrusts and jostles against his perineum.

The flesh of his cock is too much like the tentacles. Cool, moist.

Not quite there.

Sticky from more than just Reaper's precum.

Weakness weakness weakness, the tendrils hiss.

Soldier turns his head, eyes squeezed shut, as he seeks blindly for Reaper's lips. Something to shut out the endless taunting darkness.

Maybe there is some pity left in the shell. A ghost of feelings once felt too sharply.

Reaper kisses him and it could almost be sweet. His tongue is human and warm and tastes like all the things Soldier remembers. His teeth are blunt and just a little crooked, but human.

Soldier bucks into the grip on his cock, feels Reaper's dick pulse between his thighs. He squeezes them around the girth. Gives Reaper something to fuck into. The head bumps against Soldier's testicles on every hard thrust.

Added incentive.

Soldier groans against Reaper's mouth.

Please please please, the tentacles cry, Gabe, Gabe, baby, I love you, I'm gonna come Baby you make me feel so much

Stronger, they say.

Soldier shudders. Clutches Reaper's hand where it cradles his chest. Claws digging against the pectoral. Soldier's fingertips brush the ring.

He could have said yes.

He should have said yes.

They were stronger together.

And they always had been.

"Are you close, Jack?"

Are you close, baby come for me come on me Jack, Jack will you marry me

Soldier nods, shuddering again, legs twitching. Muscles spasming. He's too old for this and it's been too long and everything inside of him is too raw.

"Do you wanna come, Jackie boy? Like the old days? Will you let me see it?"

Will you, the tendrils echo, will you will you marry me?

"I will," Soldier says, gasping. He can't pull enough oxygen into his lungs. He feels torn and shaky and weak. Sapped. Drained. Utterly spent. The tendrils on his cock press against his slit, teasing at his urethra. Pulsating pressure against his most sensitive places.

"I'm going to--Gabe," he says, desperate, pitiable. "I can't--"

I love you, the tangling darkness whispers, I love you so much.

His orgasm hits him in the stomach. Wrenches a cry from him. He says Gabe's name, it spills from his lips, overflows. His come spurts against the flowing dark, warm stickiness adding to the cool slick.

Soldier's mind goes blank.

Dreadful silence.

And underneath that.

Jack, wearing the ring and smiling and Gabe, wearing the ring, with his arm around Jack's shoulder and they're both a little pink from the alcohol and the attention and their friends are there and it's good and it's right and it could have been theirs if Jack had only been

Stronger.

Soldier comes to.

His face is pressed into the dirty floor of the warehouse.

He sits up, breathes through his teeth. His muscles feel tight. His pants are still around his knees.

The ring is on his finger. He can feel the weight of it under the glove, just a little uncomfortable even after all these years.

His flaccid cock is no longer sticky. The ichor left by the tendrils has been wiped off of him. Same between his thighs and around his hips and across his back.

There is light in the warehouse. Sober grey. Dawn light.

He can see his mask, the visor reflects in the murk.

The second ring is cold and heavy on his breast.

Reaper is gone. For now. Soldier is alone. Weak and small. And all alone.

He closes his eyes. Presses his hand tight against the ring he keeps around his neck.

He is alone and he is weak.

But he will see Reaper again, this he does not doubt.

Because they're stronger

Together.

And it's always been inescapable.

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are at the end and we're all alive and we're all okay. I can probably find it in myself to write more and maybe work this around to some sort of happy end but I dunno. Opinions?
> 
> Comments or if you feel anything needs to be tagged stronger (monster porn is hard to tag??) please just let me know as always. See you next time kids and cats :)


End file.
